


Like Embers, Like Stars

by MythopoeticReality



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:22:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythopoeticReality/pseuds/MythopoeticReality
Summary: Falling out of a tree, crashing right onto a handsome nér's lap, loosing her sketchbook, and now it's starting to rain...from the way things are going, nothing is going to go right this day for Nerdanel. Or, perhaps she's wrong about that...





	Like Embers, Like Stars

I will admit, it was not, perhaps, the wisest place to decide to perch myself. Up, oh, a good several yards or so above the earth, with twigs and bark biting into my skin, no sign of any other living elf around for miles should I fall, and my own attention gone completely, focused entirely on the sparrow in her nest in the branch below, tending to her children.

A charcoal stick in hand, I was taken up by the lines of her small form and the hopping movements her mate made along the edges of her nest, and every little turn and jerk of her head. Time passed without my notice, all there was for me that afternoon, beneath the warm glow of Laurelin’s light, were my sketches. I suppose it’s supposed to go differently. A nís is supposed to remember every detail of the hour of her first meeting with the man she would wed, is that not so? The way the wind rustled softly through the boughs of the oak tree I was sitting on and the scents of mossy loam and sweet apple that were carried through the air? The way the shifting, dappled light and shadow moved and shook beneath the leaves? The distant, muffled sound of his humming and the silence that seemed to fall over the trees as he approached?

Well, I can tell you none of that, and for all I can recall it might have just as easily been a grove of Hazel and Elder  and  Prince Fëanaro could have been dancing a merry jig through those trees for all that I would have taken notice in that instant. As far as I was concerned, I could have been in my studio at home, and the only thing that held any importance to me was getting the shape of the swallow’s tail right.

I’m not sure what to tell you exactly. One moment I was perched up in that tree, pressing myself as low against the branch as I could manage, my chest flattened down tight  so that I could feel  every breath as an effort to pushy myself back upright  and with sharp, snagging twigs digging in past my bodice and skirt, as I tried to take note of the exact way the wings of the birds below me were edged in white. I leaned forward, just slightly…pushed away from the branch just a little bit, so I could angle my arm around and make my sketches more comfortably…

And in the next moment, I screamed. The world flipped upside down and my stomach dropped out from under me. Bark scrapped past my hands and knees and there was nothing holding me up. My hair whipped in a wild cloud around my head. I sputtered, my hair caught in my mouth and blinding me to the green blur that rushed past my eyes…

And then with a bone-shuddering jolt I stopped falling.  There was a low groan –not mine – that I was in too much of a daze to register just then. Off in the distance I heard another thud, as my sketchbook fell after me,the the twittering chaos of the sparrows preparing for some fight, some attacking predator, erupted from up above in the trees.

Before I could even realize what was happening, I felt the ground – what I  _thought_  was the ground – rolling and moving beneath me, and something  _pushing_ me down. I blinked, jerking upright just as I heard the words, “…..Bloody  _Ilúvatar_ in  _Eä!_ What in… _how…”_ And then silence as I turned to find that the patch of forest and undergrowth I’d assumed I’d fallen against was in fact a young nér, somewhere around my own age, staring me directly in the eyes and looking somewhat…erm… _flattened._

My eyes widened, and I jolted back to my feet. “Oh! Are you alright?” Even as the world spun around me I was offering him a hand up, feeling my face heat to the tips of my ears. “Forgive me, please, I didn’t realize – ”

He cut me off by waving my hand away, and getting to his feet himself. My hand dropped back to my side as, instead of answering me, the young man just raked his eyes over my form for a long moment, then glanced up back to the branches of the tree I had fallen from.

I felt as though I could sink into the ground at that moment. The low snort the nér gave as he turned back to me did not help matters either.

“You know,” He drawled, “When most people speak of women throwing themselves at men this is not  _quite_ what they mean.”

My brows shot up. Oh?  _That_  was how it was to be, was it? In that moment any sympathy I might have had for the nér was gone. “And I suppose you have much experience with that?”

In response he only lifted his shoulders in a shrug, a smirk just beginning to tug at his lips. Truth to tell, even in a traveling cloak,  his tunic ruffled and ground-in with dirt as it was from my toppling over on top of him, and his hair flopped over his eyes, he did look very much the sort who would – as he put it – have women “throwing themselves” at him. Tall and lean, with the kind of shoulders just suited for resting one’s head against. His cheekbones were high and seemed almost carved from marble,  his nose aquiline, his eyes held a piercing brightness. And he held himself with the arrogance of one who  _knows_  he is handsome as well.

I rolled my eyes, and tossing my head I brushed past him, and dove into the underbrush looking for my sketchbook.

He followed me, because  _of course_  he would.

“I do have to wonder,” he was saying, as I ripped aside tangles of plant-life, “how it was you came to be up there…”

“I climbed.” I said, muffling a gasp with the last word. I jerked my hand back, my palm burning as though I’d caught it in a fire, and I silently cursed myself for not taking care enough to look out for nettle.

“ _Obviously._ But to what end?” There was a pause then, and, adding in more hesitantly he ventured, “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” I grunted, despite the fact that I was still clasping my hand to my chest. As I pulled it away, I could see the swollen, blistering marks left over my flesh. Behind me leaves rustled and the undergrowth shook. I felt the air shift as he came up behind me, crouching down to my level. I turned to tell him to leave off, but fell silent even before I’d begun, seeing him peering over my shoulder, a soft click escaping the corners of his lips as his gaze traced from my hand back to my eyes and he quirked a brow at me.

I felt my face heating again, and I immediately backed away, dropping my eyes down to the earth. My heart was racing and I felt more the fool for it. As I turned away I focused even more intently on searching through the forest floor for my sketchbook. The wind was beginning to pick up now too, and I could smell rain upon it.  _Fantastic. Just lovely._

_“_ What is it that you’re looking for?” The nér’s voice reached me again and I found myself wondering why he did not just leave. Yet considering that it was unlikely that he would be out of my hair any time soon, I may as well put him to work.

Releasing a long sigh, I turned around to face the young man. “My sketchbook.” I said, “About this big – ” I spaced my hands out in order to show him – “ bound in tooled leather, there is a fox on the cover.”

“Ah.” He nodded and then fell silent, for the next several moments the only sounds that spread through the copse of trees around us was the that of two elves picking through the forest undergrowth. Thunder rumbled off in the distance, and I cursed under my breath, picking up the pace that I crawled over tangling blackberry briars and crawling ivy with. And then…

“This is it?”

Casting a glance over my shoulder I found my sketchbook being handed to me at eye level. Picking up my gaze, I nodded slowly, meeting the nér’s eyes as I took the book from him.

“Is that what you were doing up there?” He asked as I pushed myself to my feet. He nodded down towards my sketchbook. “Making a study for your next statue?”

I stopped in my tracks, blinking at him. Staring. How did he – ?

“You  _are_ Nerdanel, yes? Master Mahtan’s daughter?”

“Yes, but how – “ my eyes narrowed at him. “How did you know?”

He gave that same insufferable smirk again. (No, I did  _not_  think it was handsome, or the  _least_  bit becoming on him. So I told myself, atleast.) Flicking at a strand of his hair he said, “Call it a hunch.” A shrug, “You resemble your father.”

“I see…” I muttered, tucking my sketchbook under my arm, before shaking my head and turning away. I felt the first drops of rain fall then and started walking faster. Before I could speak another word however, the sky opened up into a torrent. Glancing back at the nér beside me, I muttered a low curse. “This way!” I said, before breaking off into a run, “There is a cave where we can find shelter.”

Rivulets of water were soon tracing their way from my hair down the back of my neck and Rain-sodden leaves and low hanging branches whipped at us with ice-chilled water as we splashed our way through the forest. My clothes became heavy and clung to my body. My new-found companion wasn’t faring much better. The forest floor was quickly transformed into a place of sucking mud. But we made it before long, and I pulled my companion after me into a hollow nearly half covered by hanging roots and ivy carved into a hillside.

As soon as we entered I set my sketchbook aside, moving towards the far wall where already there was a pile of firewood and kindling stacked.

The nér blinked at me, seeing how quickly I’d gotten to work.

“I know this place and how suddenly the rain can come upon you.” I said stacking the wood on to of itself. “It’s better to be prepared.”

“Ah…” Just from the tone of his voice I could picture the bemused expression that had crept it’s way across his face. Shaking my head, I felt a smirk of my own touch my lips as I struck the flint I’d kept near the kindling and lit the fire.

When I’d finished and turned around, I found my companion leaning up against the cavern wall. His head was canted to the side and he stood silent, just…looking at me, and almost thoughtful expression upon his face.

I shifted uncomfortably where I sat. “What is it?”

“Hrmm..?” He shook his head as he was suddenly pulled from his thoughts. “Nothing.” he seemed to consider something, and then added, “The firelight, when it catches off of the rainwater in your hair it just…” He shook his head  again. “They are like embers. Or perhaps starlight…”

To this I could not  _help_  but snort. “You talk about me as though I were beautiful.” And I knew I was most definitely  _not._

He waved off my words as though they were nothing and moved over by the fire to seat himself. “I make only an observation.” He said. “and even if I were to say so,” He added, “Who is to argue with me?”

“Most of Tirion, I would imagine.” I said the words with a shrug.  And my companion eyed me for a good long minute, as though surprised by the matter-of-factness of my tone, before brushing off the words with a wave of his hand.

 “Who are you then, anyway,” I asked him, “that you speak as though by declaring your opinion, you could make it fact?

Now he really  _was_  staring. Blinking at me as though I’d asked him the last question he’d ever thought to hear. “Pardon?”

A long sigh escaped me, and I shut my eyes for a moment, “Who are you. My family does not live in the middle of the city to hear the news that travels through the air daily, even if father is well known amongst Aulë’s craftsmen. I expect you are some nobleman’s son or somesuch? Probably famed amongst the city’s gossips?”

“Something like that…”

“Well, are you not going to tell me?”

“Maybe I won’t.” He gave me a teasing grin, “Perhaps I like this, being treated as I deserve for how I act, rather than my reputation. No, I think I will preserve the mystery.”

To this I could only roll my eyes, but despite myself I felt my lips twitching upwards into a smile.

* * *

In the weeks that followed, I saw no sign nor heard another word of my mystery companion again. That was until the day my father called me down into his workshop. I knew that it was to be an important day, that Prince Fëanáro himself had come to appeal to my father about an apprenticeship. And with that said, I had spent most of the day in my own studio, getting lost in the work I was doing on my own sculptures. I’d barely realized the time that had passed since I had began that morning, let alone that fact that anyone had come over the course of the day, though by now I’d imagined the prince  _must_  have arrived.

The room was darkened when I entered, and I caught only the silhouettes of my father and another young  nér lit by the glowing embers of the forge.

“Come, Nerdanel, look at this!” My father sounded over excited as he waved me forward. “Show her,  Fëanáro, let her see.” Clearly, whatever work the prince had done in order to convince my father to take him on was  _more_  than pleasing to him. I strode across the forge to Atar’s side.

With a dramatic flourish – because  Fëanáro could  _never_  resist the dramatic – a cloth was pulled back, revealing upon the workbench, three stones which caught the light from the forge and gleamed as though they were small embers themselves… _or stars._

My breath caught, and that was then I turned to look up and see Fëanáro’s face.

“Hello, Nerdanel.” He said, wearing that same, insufferable smirk.


End file.
